it seems impossible that morning is here. I just slept; I just woke.
the bus stop smells of beer,
the apple round lady across the street is smoking a joint- I wonder what her purple gloved hand smells like, why she only wears one glove, if this is routine. I suspect it is. I saw her here last week, left hand purple glove, right hand fingers grasped around the straps of her bag.
13 days and I want so much to inhabit them, learn the language f crows, watch the sunrise.
this juice fast is smoking; I am learning about impulse: control.
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